


An Unusual Christmas Carol

by Ladyanaconda



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, F/M, Family Drama, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyanaconda/pseuds/Ladyanaconda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WCHB Christmas Special. On Christmas Eve, Xibalba and La Muerte tell their children the story of General Ramiro Posada, and the valuable lesson he learned when he received the visits of the three gods to help him become a better person. Based on a Christmas Carol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Bedtime Story

When Christmas dates approached, La Muerte always decorated the Land of the Remembered according to the occasion. The streets were turned into thin, blue layers of ice so the spirits could skate and snowflakes fell from the sky. There were some places in which the streets, apart from ice, were covered under thick layers of snow so children could play. All the Remembered wore colorful winter clothing during this time of the year, and families reunited in their homes to share hot cocoa, anecdotes from throughout the year and have dinner together. Some even went as far as to decorate their homes with adorned pine trees and other decorations. The buildings had been changed into icy colors of blue and lavender to have a more wintery air.

La Muerte’s castle was majestically decorated for Christmas, there were garlands, mistletoes and many Christmas decorations hanging from the pillars and walls, and there was a giant Christmas tree in the throne room, the best Christmas tree someone could have ever imagined. It was adorned with white candles, garlands, red and golden tinsels, candy canes and glass baubles of every color one could have imagined. The castle’s interior was boiling with movement as the party continued, some spirits were dancing, others were taking food form the Christmas feast and, some were wondering why there were so many mistletoes around the place…

“Zipacna, knock it off!” Xibalba growled at his older brother as the caiman-headed god continued to place mistletoes wherever he could.

“Come on, hermanito, you know the drill!” Zipacna snickered, hanging yet another mistletoe. “You stand under a mistletoe with a girl, she must have a kiss with you!”

The dark god sighed. “Let me guess, you’ll try to get Xochiquétzal to stand beneath one with you.”

“Got it!”

Marigold and Alastor approached their father and uncle, the both of them were carrying lots of candy canes, sweets and snowman-shaped cookies.

“Hey, hey, hey, you two.” Xibalba reproached them mildly. “Don’t get too excited on the sweets, you haven’t eaten anything yet. Besides, your mother will soon bring her own recipe of cookies.” He was already watering his mouth at the thought of those delicious, tasty, warm, crunchy, sweet cookies. “She only makes them once a year!”

“She’s taking too long!” Alastor whined, pulling his pastries closer.

“Come on, mijo, you can’t rush perfection.”

“Hey, papá, how do humans celebrate Christmas?” Marigold inquired. “Like this?”

“Sort of, except they don’t have giant trees and they can’t decorate with just a snap of their fingers.” Xibalba chuckled.

“Not to mention they have to cook all the food themselves.” Zipacna added, hovering down from the ledge, glancing at his younger brother. “You know what this reminds me of? That time when you, La Muerte and the Candlemaker got involved in the affair with… what was his name again?”

“Posada.”

“What are you talking about?” Marigold inquired.

“Who’s Posada?” Alastor followed.

“It’s a long story, _niños_.” Xibalba replied.

Marigold looked up at her father with the cutest puppy look she could muster. “Well, mamá will probably take a while in bringing those cookies, so we might as well hear it.”

“Pleaaase!” Alastor was tugging on his father’s cloak pleadingly.

Oh, heck. Sometimes he hated being so weak around his children. Oh, well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share that story with them. It wasn’t inappropriate for kids, anyway. “Okay, _niños_.” Xibalba sighed, sitting down on the couch. “Only because it’s Christmas.”

“Yaay!” Marigold and Alastor chirped, sitting down on the floor in front of their father, still holding their treats. Zipacna joined them on the ground, snapping his fingers and popping a large popcorn pot out of thin air. Xibalba rolled his eyes, before speaking.

“Okay, first of all, what do you think of Christmas?”

“What does that have to do with the story?” Alastor inquired.

“Answer the question and I’ll tell you.”

“It’s amazing! All the gifts and decorations and carols!” Marigold giggled.

It took Alastor a bit longer to answer. “I like it. We can spend time with friends and family, not to mention we get to give and receive a lot of gifts.”

“And I get to get a kiss.” Zipacna snickered as he took a handful of popcorn and took it into his mouth.

Xibalba couldn’t help but smile a bit. “In other words, you all love Christmas and think it’s amazing.”

“Yay!”

“Absolutely.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Xibalba’s smile disappeared and he let out a sigh. “Well, what if I told you that there are people who do _not_ like Christmas?”

“Who wouldn’t like Christmas? It’s awesome!” Alastor said.

“Well, in San Ángel there was a certain man who not only did not like Christmas, he did not even give his family the importance it deserves.”

“Why?”

“Well, that was the way he was, at least until we paid him a little visit.” Xibalba chuckled in reminiscence. “But that’s for later, right now I’ll tell you a little more about General Ramiro Posada…”


	2. Ramiro Posada

**Okay, guys! At some points during the story you may find letters in black between parentheses. These are comments made by Xibalba on the story he’s telling his children, I’m clearing in up so you guys don’t get confused.**

* * *

At that time, it was December 24th, Christmas Eve. Although San Ángel was in the middle of a desert, and as such it didn’t get any snow ( **though it did get freezing temperatures at night** ) it didn’t affect the festive air in town. The townspeople were already preparing for that night, cooking dinner or wrapping the gifts in colorful paper, adorning them with ribbons of all colors. All houses had Christmas trees brought from the capital, decorated lively, each in the own style of the family that had them. Even the streets were decorated with Christmas lights and garlands, even the statue of Captain Mondragon didn’t save itself from the Christmas spirit.

There was one person, however, who did not share the festive spirit with the rest of town.

He was a short man, ridiculously short, who wore a brown military uniform adorned with medals he obtained throughout the years, and a brown hair. He had white hair and a large matching moustache ( **like dear old me, though mine is much better-looking** ), as well as a large nose. His name was Ramiro Posada, somewhat of a ‘mayor’ in San Ángel, not formally, rather because of his military status and position in society. You may better know him as María Posada’s father.

As he returned home for the barracks, he’d often stare at the Christmas decorations with a hint of disgust in his face, before shaking his head with a roll of his eyes and continuing on his way home. He wanted to get out of this festive air as soon as possible. The townspeople could tell he was not happy during this time of the year-he _never_ is, actually-and most of them avoided him, especially children. Finally, he crossed the threshold of his house, and closed the door shut behind him. The maids greeted him politely, before he went to his study to take a look.

A few minutes hadn’t passed before there was a knock on the door. “What is it?” he asked, annoyed at having being interrupted.

“Excuse me, General, but _la niña_ María is here.” One of the maids spoke from the other side of the door. There was a bit of joy in her voice as she mentioned María.

“Okay, tell her to come in.” the General simply said, not lifting his gaze from his papers.

A few minutes later, the door opened and María, the general’s daughter ( **I think you already heard of her, when your mother and I told you about the wager we made on her and the other two boys** ) stepped into the study, and walked towards the desk. Her hands were on the bump of her belly, she was four months due with her third child by then. “ _Hola_ , papá.”

“ _Hola_.” The General said coldly, not really paying attention to her.

 “How have you been doing?”

“Good. How are things going?”

“Oh, it’s going wonderfully! Manolo and Joaquín have just finished decorating the dining room for dinner, the children are very happy, especially Cristina…” María couldn’t help but laugh gently. “She’s been writing her letter to Santa for a week.”

“When are you going to tell her the truth about all this ‘Santa’ stuff? She better learn the truth about it before she makes herself too many false hopes.”

“Papá, she’s just a child.”

“Exactly. She has to learn how real life works, not to believe in silly fairytales. Just look at Joaquín! He learned early that the world is a cruel place, and look how he has triumphed! Even without that…” Posada temporally cast his gaze upwards, trying to remember what was the name of that thing. “…medal he’s still a hero! And all thanks to training and maturing, not stupid tales for kids.”

María shook her head in disappointment, but remembered what she had come to in the first place. “Say, papá-“

Another knock in the door. “ _Ahora qué_?” the General snapped at the unseen maid from behind the door.

“Excuse me, patron, but one of the nuns wishes to speak to you.”

General Posada muttered something under his breath, before replying. “Fine, send them in.”

Again, after a few minutes, the doors opened, but this time it was one of the nuns from church who came in ( **The tall one** ). María stood up from her seat and went to greet the nun. “Hello there, Carola! How have you been doing?”

The nun smiled and shared an embrace with the pregnant woman. “María! What a coincidence! How are you and the baby?”

“The baby is doing fine, thank heaven.”

General Posada coughed impatiently. “Excuse me, I don’t have all day. Tell me your business at once.”

“Papá!” María scolded him.

“It’s okay, dear child.” Carola placed a hand on María’s shoulder, before approaching the desk. “Sorry to bother you, General, but I’ve come to tell you that we’re collecting funds to give the orphans a Christmas dinner and gifts.”

“That’s all? You come to bother me just for some kids?”

“Well, General, we think it’s fair that everyone has the right to have a good Christmas.”

“Please! If those kids have no one to feed them it’s their problem, not mine.”

“But-“

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important maters to attend to than a bunch of kids.”

Knowing it was to argue, Carola shook her head in disappointment. “I understand. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

María watched as Carola left, escorted by the maid who still waited outside, and gave her father a disapproving look. “Papá, how could you be so inconsiderate!”

“I’m not going to waste my money on a bunch of kids I don’t even know.” Then the General recalled his daughter was about to tell him something. “What is it you wanted to tell me, now that we’re on it?”

“…I was going to ask you if you’d like to join us tonight for dinner tonight.”

The General stopped his hand in mid-air as he was about to take another sheet of paper from his desk with his good hand ( **I think I forgot to mention, but General Posada lost one hand and now has a hook in its place. Speaking of Captain Hook, huh?** ), before reacting. “I’m afraid I’ll be too busy for it.”

María’s expression fell. “That’s what you said last year, papá!”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“It’s just one night that I ask that you come spend some time with us!”

“Come on, it’s not like you only see me once a year!”

“With you it feels like it! When have you come to visit?! Have you even gone to one of your grandchildren’s birthdays _once_?!” María was so angry she didn’t notice her father was growing impatient.

“Watch your tongue, _jovencita_!”

“Sometimes I even wonder if you ever cared for me at all!”

“ENOUGH!”

María jumped( **literally** ) when her father banged his fist on the table loudly, and turned his chair so that his back was on her.

“I have said my last word on the matter! You can go!”

She just stayed there, frozen in utter shock. He did not turn to look at her. Not even when he heard a sob escape from his daughter’s lips and her footsteps echoing down the hall as she ran out of the study, and then out of the house.

* * *

“That’s mean!” Marigold protested.

“Why is he so mean?” Alastor whined, continuing to eat on his candy cane.

“And you haven’t seen your father when the mood strikes him?” Zipacna muttered under his breath, until he was smacked in the head with a small stream of tar. “See?” the caiman-head protested, wiping the tar from his face.

“That’s for your comment.” Xibalba retorted, crossing his arms and giving his brother a frown. “For you information, I’m not that inflexible and selfish!”

“You talk much for cheating on the wager with your wife just because you wanted her realm for yourself-!” another stream of tar, this time directed at his mouth. Zipacna spat it, wiping his tongue. “Okay, I got the message!”

Satisfied, Xibalba glanced down at his children. “Where was I again?”

“Talking about how mean Posada was.”

“oh, yeah.”

Just then, a spirit nearby overheard the whole thing, and when he heard the name Posada it caught his attention. He was a dressed in a military uniform, with a matching hat, and a large brown moustache. He approached the group of deities as if nothing was wrong, and nodded his hat at the winged tar god. “Xibalba.”

Xibalba turned to the spirit, but unlike the other times a spirit dared to talk to him just like that, he nodded at him with a small grin. “Captain. Nice to see you.”

Marigold and Alastor turned to see the spirit, and noticed he was _very_ familiar. Their father had called him Captain…

“Papá, who is he?” Alastor inquired.

“Oh, _niños_ , I nearly forgot.” Xibalba motioned at the spirit next to him. “This is Captain Joaquín Mondragon Sir,”

Sir? “You mean…”

“That’s it, I’m Joaquín’s father.” The Captain laughed heartily. “I see your father hasn’t talked you much about me.”

“He hasn’t.” Marigold continued.

“He was my champion during various wagers with your tío.” Xibalba chuckled when Zipacna pouted and crossed his arms.

“That was just luck!” he mumbled.

“Anyway, I hear you’re telling them about the affair with General Posada, aren’t you, old rascal?” Joaquín Sir chuckled, glancing up at Xibalba.

“I was just about to get to the part where _you_ come in.” Xibalba nodded.

“Ah, of course! The look on his face when he saw me! How about I take it from there? I _was_ there, after all.”

Xibalba thought for a moment, before sighing. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t do bad.”

Marigold and Alastor shifted in their spots on the ground so they were looking at the _calaca_ when he started with his part of the story. “Well, after what happened with María, I decided I had to do something to make Ramiro realize what he was losing. So, with a little help from your parents, I paid him a little visit…”


	3. Unexpected Visit

That night, Ramiro was going to sleep as usual. After what happened with María he didn’t hear from her for the rest of the day, and frankly he was glad. He was not in the mood of getting into another fight with her. Most of the servants had already retired to their chambers for the night, and he headed to bed. His room was, as you could imagine, almost bare an simplistic, he had no decorations of any kind. He had a large bed with curtains, a simple window, chimney and single couch with a tea table. He had just dressed with his sleeping gown and hat, and was about to head to bed. He couldn’t help but wonder how María and Manolo were doing for a minute, they were surely having dinner right now. Joaquín was probably with them, but he drifted his thoughts away from it. He didn’t want anything that had to do with Christmas, he just wanted to go to sleep.

( **“How come it doesn’t bother him to be alone on Christmas?” Alastor inquired**.

 **Joaquín Sir sighed. “Well, Ramiro has always been the lonely type. But well, we’ll get to that part later. As I was saying, I paid a visit to him that night. One he wasn’t expecting, I must say… Tough I admit, perhaps I shouldn’t have made such an… unusual entrance** )

Just as Ramiro was about to go to bed for the day, suddenly he heard something in his chimney. He thought it was just the fire cackling, but he was certain he could hear whispers coming from it. Ramiro initially dismissed it as nothing more as a product of his imagination, perhaps the cheese he had for dinner had been a bit rotten. But when he tried to walk away from the fireplace, the whispers got louder, heck, even the fire seemed to be getting brighter and brighter.

“ _Ramiro…_ ”

The General stopped in his tracks when he actually heard a voice coming from the fire; in fact, he swore the smoke from the fire was not going up the chimney, but coming out into the room. “What in tarnation…?”

“Ramiro!”

This time, the General let out a yell of surprise as he nearly fell back when the same voice spoke again ( **haha, what did I tell you? The look on his face!** ), loud and clear this time. That, and it was strangely familiar. “ _Pero que demonios_?”

The smoke materialized, and started taking a shape. A burly man with a military uniform, medals attached to it, and short black hair with a large, matching moustache on his face. However, his skin was gone, and he was nothing more than a skeleton with patterned markings on it, and golden pupils in two black holes.

“Heck! Never use a chimney!” the specter spat dust as he brushed the ash from his jacket. “This is what I get for letting Xibalba teleport me!I was lucky not to burn my pants!”

( **“You teleported him to a fireplace?” Marigold inquired, crossing her arms at her father**.

 **“What? He said he wanted to get there ASAP! Besides, it was Christmas Eve!” Xibalba defended himself, smiling sheepishly**.

 **Once more, Joaquín Sir coughed impatiently. “As I was saying…”** )

Ramiro could not believe what his eyes showed him. In front of him was one of the few men who had actually earned his respect while in life, the one of the greatest heroes San Ángel could have known. ( **not to mention he was brave, bold, heroic, incredibly handsome…** )

( **Captain!** )

“C-Captain Joaquín?” General Posada stuttered. He barely did that unless he was very surprised.

“Ramiro!” Joaquín Sir laughed, holding out his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Long time no see, you rascal!” But as he went forward to embrace his old friend Ramiro stepped back.

“Stay away, whatever you thing are!” he snapped trying in vain to hide his terror.

“Oh, I see.” Joaquín Sir said, lowering his arms. “You don’t really believe in me, do you?”

“Of c-course I don’t! I’m p-probably hallucinating because of that cheese, I knew it tasted weird! Or that sauce, it was surely made with rotten ingredients! I’m so going to get Matilda for that!”

“Don’t blame that poor maid for your skepticism, _viejo_!”

“Please! There was more gravy in that soup than in your statue!”

( **Your father had the feeling Ramiro would act like that, and so he gave me a little trick to snap him out of it.** )

Finally, Joaquín Sir couldn’t take it anymore, and he let out an inhuman shriek, temporally turning black and green and dark wings apparently sprouting from his back. Ramiro yelled in terror and soon he was on his knees, trying to shield himself from the spirit’s wrath. “Mercy!”

“ _MISERABLE HIJO DE BURRO LEPROSO_ , DO YOU BELIEVE IN ME OR NOT?!” Joaquín Sir roared.

“I do, I do, I do! I have to!”

Satisfied, the Captain returned back to his normal skeleton form, the black and green retreating and giving way to white once more, the wings disappearing from his back. “Good. We’re even now.”

“Why do you haunt me? Whatever did I do?” Ramiro asked, a little calmly this time.

“I wouldn’t call it a haunting, I’m just paying you a visit from beyond the grave. And rather, it’s what you _don’t_ do why I’m here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been watching you, Ramiro. I’ve-“

“Oh, then I guess you’ve seen how I managed to save San Ángel from Chakal.” Ramiro chuckled rather proudly.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it was _your_ daughter and her two friends who saves town from being destroyed. La Muerte told me so.”

“Maybe, but it was all thanks to my upbringing. After all, I trained your son to be who he is now, and look at him now!”

“I do admit, I was impressed in how Joaquín had followed into my footsteps, but then I found he had the accursed medal that started all of it in the first place.”

“Oh, you mean that thing everyone was making so much fuss about? What happened with it, by the way?”

“Xibalba tucked it away for good this time, thankfully. I was lucky not to end up in his realm for using it, he and La Muerte allowed me to stay in the Land of the Remembered.”

( **“Why were you going to end up in the Land of the Forgotten?” Alastor asked**

**“Ancient Rules.” Xibalba sighed. “He was nearly consumed by the medal’s power, an artifact under _my_ jurisdiction. He would have ended up in my realm.”**

**“How come he didn’t?”**

**“Your father lent me a hand.” Joaquín Sir stated. “He talked it over with La Muerte, they agreed that since I had my son, and the townspeople, to remember me, then I could stay here.”**

**“I owed it to you.” Xibalba glanced at him. “It was my fault you died, after all.”**

**Marigold coughed impatiently. “Hum, guys, the story.”**

**“Oh, right!”** )

“Oh…” Ramiro didn’t know what to say. “But you have to admit! That medal made you indestructible! You took on entire bandit raids by yourself without receiving a single scratch!”

“At what price?” the Captain sighed sadly. “That thing consumed me. It drove me insane, drove me away from my family. I didn’t get to see my son grow, I left him all alone while my wife isolated herself from everything, including him, and ended up leaving not only the town, but Joaquín as well.” There was true regret in his voice. “I’ve been counting the days left for Joaquín to join me so we could make up for lost time, but I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.”

“I don’t mean to rush you or anything, but… why are you here again?”

“I’m here to stop you from ending up like me, _carajo_!” the Captain growled. “You’re going down the same path as me, and without help. You’re driving her away, if you keep on like this you’ll end up all alone with no one to care for you. Is that what you want, Ramiro?”

“If I haven’t been getting along with María it’s because she doesn’t respect me! I’m her father, and she doesn’t treat me as such!”

“Because you don’t treat her as your daughter either. You can’t expect respect if you don’t give it to others, just like you can’t expect love nor affection if you don’t show it. That’s why I came here, I came to offer you a chance to change your ways.”

“I don’t get it…”

“You don’t even deserve it, but I appealed your case to La Muerte and her husband. They have agreed to help you.”

“Is that all?” Ramiro couldn’t believe it. “You come to my house just to tell me I’m going to be annoyed by more spirits? No, thank you!”

“You don’t get a say in it. They will come whether you like it or not, if you don’t want to listen to them, it’s your problem. I have told you, it is time that I go.”

“W-Wait!”

But the Captain was gone.

XXXXXX

~~~~“Creepy.” Zipacna commented.

“I had to be hard on him, he was getting stubborn.” Joaquín Sir sighed sadly. “I had to tell him the truth about himself, even if it hurt.”

Just then, Xibalba wrinkled his nose when he caught a familiar smell. Just then, La Muerte and Xochiquétzal walked into the dining hall, holding trays of Christmas cookies shaped like snowmen, Christmas trees and many other things. “ _Chicos_ , we made some cookies!” La Muerte called out.

“Finally!” Xibalba zipped to his wife’s side and was about to take a cookie when she slapped his hand away.

“Xibalba, don’t be rude!” she scolded him. “Let the children and our guests have some first.”

“Ow, but they’re going to eat them all!”

Xochiquétzal had already gone ahead of them and bent down to let Marigold, Alastor and Captain Mondragon have some biscuits. Zipacna looked upwards to see if she was standing beneath a mistletoe, only to find she wasn’t, much to his disappointment.

“These are the best cookies I’ve ever tasted!” Joaquín Sir commented, munching on his snowman biscuit. “You truly have culinary talent, My Lady!”

La Muerte blushed at the compliment. “ _Gracias_.”

Xibalba grunted, accompanying his wife back to the couch where everyone was. “So, what were you doing?” La Muerte inquired, placing the tray of cookies on the tea table so the others could take from the cookies (Xibalba being the first, grabbing about five). “Papi was telling us a Christmas story.” Alastor said munching on his biscuits.

“It wouldn’t happen to be the story with General Posada, would it?”

“It is.” Xibalba replied, his mouth full.

“Xibalba, don’t speak with food in your mouth!

“We were getting to the part where you were about to come in, Milady.” The Captain explained.

Marigold glanced at her mother. “You were there too, mamá?”

“Sort of.” La Muerte said. “After Captain Mondragon told the General we would visit him, I was the first to go, and I must say, I have never met someone as rude as him...”


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Past

That night after Captain Mondragon visited Ramiro, he dismissed it as a mere figment of his imagination once again, and went to sleep as if nothing that happened. Even with all his tough exterior I could tell there was still a small speck of kindness in his heart.

(“ **Mi amor, I think now’s not the time for that…” Xibalba groaned.**

 **La Muerte rolled her eyes, and continued with the story. “Anyway, soon the clock struck one, and I knew it was my cue…** ”)

Ramiro shifted in bed when he felt a bit of heat radiating from the side of bed. He removed one of his layers of blankets, but it was still hot. He grumbled something under his breath and tried to hide himself underneath his pillows, but suddenly a bright light overcame the room, and even with his eyes closed it nearly blinded him.

“Ramiro Posada.”

Immediately the man jumped to his feet out of bed, startled at the newcomer’s voice, confused at the fact that it appeared to be feminine. When he opened his eyes, he found himself before a majestic figure before him. She was a beautiful woman with pale skin adorned with golden markings, long flowing and curly black hair that reached down her knees, wearing a long passionate red dress that pooled at the floor and a matching, ridiculously large hat, the both of which were adorned with candles and marigolds. She was beautiful in every way imaginable, she had a tiny waist and considerable hips, a well as round, beautiful breasts and a perfect face.

Ramiro had the feeling this entity was not human, there was no mortal that would ever be so beautiful and perfect, nor be as tall as this. She was considerably much taller than him, in fact, it seemed she was even taller than the canopy of his bed ( **though maybe it was because since he was very short, he often saw people as taller than they actually were. That time I had to shrink down a bit to fit inside his room**.)

Ramiro stared at the goddess in front of him with a mixture of shock, bewilderment and lust. “Huh…”

“My name is La Muerte, I’m the ruler of the Land of the Remembered, and I have been asked by Captain Mondragon to come and see you.”

“I-D-B…”

La Muerte noticed the look he was giving her, and crossed her arms over her breasts, frowning lightly. “Please, I ask you in the kindest way possible, do not look at me that way. I’ll let you know that I am married, and my husband won’t like the way you’re looking at me.”

( **Xibalba muttered under his breath. “I wish I could have given that dwarf a piece of my mind.”**

**“You would have probably killed him on the spot.” Captain Mondragon snickered.**

**“That was not very polite!” Marigold snapped.**

**La Muerte coughed gently to call their attention. “Anyway, skipping that…** )

When he finally snapped out of his daze, Ramiro looked up at La Muerte with crossed arms and attempted to sound like he was superior to her, though her stature and her godly glow were making it a hard task. “Well, at least you have some decency! I’ve known women like you who take advantage their good looks to go around whore around men to get benefits out of them!”

La Muerte was staring down at him with a mild frown. “Ramiro, you don’t have to-“

“It’s General Posada to you, _mujer_!”

It was taking her every bit of self-control not to give this man a good slap. “Listen, I’m here to-“

“I know why you came here! Mondragon said something about being visited by three spirits, but he never mentioned one of them being a woman! If he thinks I’m going to be ordered around by a mere woman like you you’re completely wrong, if you have a husband I don’t know where the heck he is that he doesn’t whipe you into place! Go back to the kitchen to wherever you live!”

That did it. She tried to be patient but that was much. In a show of rage and indignation, La Muerte’s candles flared out like volcanoes and she showered her ire on the mortal, making the General cower in fear and shock. “ESCUCHA BIEN, HIJO DE BURRO LEPROSO! I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY HUMILLIATIONS FROM YOU, I MAY BE A WOMAN BUT I AM NOT YOUR INFERIOR! YOU BETTER MIND YOUR MANNERS OR I’LL TELL MY HUSBAND AND HE WON’T DOUBT IN COMING TO GIVE YOU WHAT YOU DESERVE FOR TALKING A WOMAN DOWN LIKE THAT!” She yelled in a thunderous voice.

( **La Muerte shifted uncomfortably. She usually didn’t like to snap like that at people, she always tried her best to swallow her anger and try to use kindness and reason with stubborn ones. Xibalba didn’t think exactly the same, however.**

**“That’s my Muertita!” he laughed. “Putting that _imbécil_ back in place!”**

**“Mamá, you really yelled at him?” Marigold was snickering.**

**“I didn’t have any other choice. He didn’t want to listen, and I just wasn’t going to let him disrespect me like that.”**

**“You guys are lucky she hasn’t been mad at you…” Zipacna muttered under his breath.**

**Alastor shuddered at the thought. “So, what happened after that?”**

**“Well, after I managed to calm down, the General was beyond scared…”** )

“Mercy!” Ramiro dropped to his knees, trembling at the goddess’s wrath. “Don’t hurt me! I beg you! I have a family!”

La Muerte’s candles went back to normal and her anger died down, but she was still staring down at General Posada with cold fire. “I’m not the type to hurt people in any way, not even if they deserve if. So you only have family when it’s convenient to you?”

“N-No, I-!”

“Don’t worry. I know you don’t really think like that.” Soon her kind, sweet side was back, with still some lingers of that fire in her amber eyes. “You were not always like this. The reason that I’m here, Ramiro Posada, is to remind you of the way you used to be, and at what point in the past you took another path.”

Ramiro panicked when he no longer felt the floor beneath him, and soon realized he was floating. Much to his shock ( **and horror** ), he realized he was getting higher, accompanied by the goddess, and he was further scared when they flew through the roof, finding themselves going higher and higher into the night sky. “Where are we going?!”

“To your past.” Was all she said.

La Muerte waved her hand, and out of sudden, the moon went to hide behind the horizon, and the sun came out, but it was going backwards, and soon it augmented in speed. Below them, people went and came, old men became children, old houses rejuvenated, a few even disappeared, the town became smaller, until finally it stopped. They had gone about fifty years into the past, long before María, Manolo and Joaquín had been born, back when San Ángel was just a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. General Posada could not believe it.

As La Muerte floated down, dragging him along, he could take a better look at the surroundings, it was just as he remembered. He recognized some of the boys he used to play with, some of the old women who would often yell and chase them around the street with _chanchlas_ after stepping on their flower, and he even saw the young torero Luis Sánchez with his wife talking with Pedro and Juanita Mondragon, both families showing their respective children Carlos and Joaquín to each other. The nostalgy overcame him, it was enough to have a few tears in his eyes.

Even La Muerte was smiling in remembrance, recalling how small San Ángel used to be, but recalled the reason of their visit. “Follow me.”

Although hesitant, Ramiro followed the goddess, and was quick to notice that people passed by them without a glance, as if they were ignoring them, or if they were not even there. “How come these people have not seen us?”

“They can’t. This is only a memory, the shadow of what San Ángel once was. We are only shades wandering through the sands of time, they will not be able to see nor hear us.”

Soon they came upon one of the larger houses in the then-small town. Unlike most houses, this one was gray and had little decorations for Christmas. There was not even a garden, like most houses had at that time. Inside, there was a small boy of about six years old watching longingly out the window as the other boys played, while he was stuck inside studying.

Suddenly, the door opened gently, and a woman in her forties with short black hair came in with a small tray of food. General Posada stared at her dumbfounded; it had been so long ever since he saw this woman, and it was in pictures.

“M-Mother?”

“How are you doing, _mijo_?” the woman asked her youngest son, placing the tray next to his books.

“I’m bored, mama.” He whined, dropping his pencil and crossing his arms. “I want to go play outside!”

“I know, but you know your father. He wants you to finish homework before you can go play.”

“How come my sisters aren’t doing any homework?”

“Well, _mijo_ , they are… helping me with the chores.” The woman explained, though there was a wave of sadness in her voice.

La Muerte noticed how the general was trying his best to suppress his tears. It had been so long. Just then, the door opened once more, but this time a man in a military uniform came in. He looked like an older version of his son (and almost a younger of the actual General Posada), with moustache and all. The woman immediately stood aside and cast her gaze downwards. The man looked down at the boy’s work.

“Good. You’re learning faster than the other kids.” He said, before turning to his wife. “I thought I told you to teach our daughters how to be housewives! Diana’s intended will be arriving in a few days, and I want her to be ready for her future husband!”

“I was just teaching them how to sweep, I only brought Ramiro his meal.”

“Good. Now go.”

“Yes, husband.”

As soon as the woman left, Ramiro looked up at his father innocently. “What’s a housewife, papa?”

“Ah, a housewife is a married woman, son. Remember this, when you marry a woman, she must _always_ be at your back and call and obey your every command. The man of the house always has the last word, got it?”

Although reluctant, Ramiro nodded his head. “Yes, papa.”

La Muerte shook her head in disappointment at the scene, but the General was actually praising his father’s words. “Ha! A good lesson, indeed it was!”

She looked down at him. “So you always thought women were inferior?”

“Of course! They only exist to make men happy!”

“SO your mother was nothing more than a tool?”

“Yes-What?! No!”

“She is a woman.”

“But she’s…” the General bit his tongue. “She’s…”

“And your sisters are nothing more than tools either?”

“No! They’re not!” His elder sister had always been kind to him and self-taught herself to read, and his other sisters always played with him when he had no one to.

“See? You never thought women were mere tools for men to use, but your father repeated it so often that you ended up believing it yourself.”

Ramiro didn’t want to see anymore. “Whatever! Just take me back!”

La Muerte frowned lightly. “Oh, no, mister. We’re not done yet.” Another wave of her hand, and they went further forward in time. Things grew old, people died and were born, and buildings were built. Finally they stopped, at that time San Ángel was a little bigger than before, and the church was being built.

La Muerte led the general through town, again passing by as unseen shades, until they were at the fountain. Ramiro saw Carmen, now a beautiful young woman, being wooed by Carlos and Joaquín to no avail, though La Muerte could see in her eyes that she had a thing for Carlos. Then she saw a beautiful young woman on the fountain, she had much resemblance to María, but her hair was a darker brown, other than that she looked very much like her. For a second time, Ramiro almost felt tears of nostalgia running down his cheeks. “S-Sofía?”

“Who is she?” La Muerte asked. She actually knew, but she wanted him to say it.

“My… She is my…”

Just then, a young man a little older than her (though his white hair made him look older than he actually was) was approaching her with a small arrangement of flowers. He was beyond nervous, almost blushing as he approached the woman named Sofía, who looked up at him curiously when he walked closer.

“Hello.” She said kindly.

He jumped, shivering. “H-Hello…” he tried in vain to regain his composure. “I am R-Ramiro…”

“Oh, I know you. You are the General’s son.”

“Sort of.” He held out the buquet in embarrassment. “I brought you some flowers.”

Sofía couldn’t help but blush a bit as well. “ _Gracias_ …” she accepted the bouquet.

General Posada couldn’t help but chuckle sadly in reminiscence, recalling how at that time he couldn’t even talk properly in front of her. But soon time advanced yet again, this time about twenty years later, he couldn’t really tell. This time he realized they were not in the street, they were inside a house. Soon he recognized his study, and he saw himself looking out the window. This scenery was vaguely familiar to him, until he realized where they were. “What are we doing here?” he asked with a tone or urgency.

“I said I’d show you everything.” La Muerte said simply, staring at the shade of the younger General.

“You’ve shown me everything, can we go now-?” Ramiro tried to walk away, but La Muerte snapped her fingers and his legs froze in place.

(“ **Why do I have the feeling this _telenovela_ is reaching the sour point?” Zipacna shivered, reaching out for more popcorn, only to realize the bucket was empty. **

**Alastor and Marigold hadn’t said anything.**

**“What? Aren’t you going to make a nasty comment about our dear General?” Xibalba chuckled upon seeing their expressions.**

**“Uhh…” Marigold was speechless.**

**“I don’t know anymore…” Alastor said.**

**La Muerte smiled sympathetically at her children. “It’s much harder to judge someone when you know the whole story.”**

**“He made mistakes, but who doesn’t?” Joaquín Sir nodded. “He may have not been a good husband, or father, but he was a good friend to me.”**

**“Why did the General want to leave?” Marigold asked curiously.**

**La Muerte’s gaze turned into a sad expression. “Because in order to make him see his mistakes, I had to show him all of them. And he was about to see one of the greatest mistakes he ever made, one that made him the way he was…** ”)

The door to the study burst open, and Sofía entered, not bothering to knock. Ramiro tried to look away, but his body was frozen.

“How many times I’ve told you to knock the-?!” the past General snapped turned to see his wife, only to find her with luggage. “What are you doing with that?”

Sofía had a look of both sadness and anger in her face. “I’m leaving with my daughter.”

“What the-?!”

“I warned you that if you didn’t accept her the way she was I would not bear it anymore!”

“And who gave you permission for this?!”

“I don’t need your permission! Your not my owner, I’m not your slave, I have every right to make my own decisions!”

The General stomped his way to his wife menacingly ( **or at least he tried to, like I mentioned he wasn’t every tall** ). “Not if have anything to say about the matter!”

“You’re not going to stop me! I have had enough of you and your _machismo_!”

“I’m your husband! You have to obey me!”

“No, I don’t!” Sofía was as defiant as ever, tearing her arms from her husband’s grip. “You didn’t even ask me about sending María away!”

“I don’t have to ask your opinion! I’m doing what is more convenient for my daughter!”

“Oh, so _now_ she is your daughter! Because as far as I know, you’ve never treated her as such! She was always a nuisance, an annoyance to you, all because she was a girl!”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had given me a **son**!”

“Oh, so this is all it’s about?! Her gender?! Besides you’d be half to blame as well!”

“Do not pin the blame on me, _mujer_!”

“You know what?! _Vete al demonio_!” hot tears of anger-and hurt-were rolling down Sofía’s cheeks. “I wish I had never married you! I’m leaving with my daughter whether you like it or not!”

Ramiro was frozen in shock as he watched his wife turn on her heels, dragging her luggage behind her, not looking back at him. But he said nothing. If that was how she wanted it, so be it. From now on he’d tell all townspeople of what she had done, and she’d be an outcast. She’d be cast out of society for daring to do what little women dared to do. She was already making her way to the train station; María would catch up to her later when she was done packing.

“Stop!”

La Muerte glanced at General Posada, and was genuinely surprised to see the tears were finally rolling down his cheeks, he was covering his eyes, trying to block the memories coming back to haunt him.

“Please, I beg you! I don’t want to see anymore! I can’t bear these memories!”

La Muerte saw in the depths of his being; despite everything, General Posada had truly loved his wife, and he always regretted driving her away. But she remained stoic and firm, shaking her head in disappointment. “But you created them yourself.”

Those were her last words, before a bright flash blinded him.

* * *

La Muerte sighed sadly. “That was when I sent him back to his time. I didn’t like to open old wounds, I don’t like to, but he had to see his past mistakes in order to realize what he did wrong.”

“What happened next?” Alastor inquired.

“When that old man awoke, he was back in his room.” Xibalba stated, before looking around.

“What are you looking for, _hermanito_?” Zipacna inquired with his mouth full of popcorn.

“I’m waiting to see if you-know-who won’t come out of nowhere to interrupt me or catch me by surprise.”

“The Candlemaker? Isn’t he busy on this time of the year?”

“Are you talking about the big fat man with a large white cloudy beard and annoyingly cheery attitude that glowed like a candle?” Joaquín Sir inquired

“Bingo!” Xibalba sighed in dismay.

“Oh, he actually arrived a while ago. He heard about half the story before he went to the bathroom. If I’m right, he should be back in-“ the Captain couldn’t finish as a flash of bright light made them cover their eyes, and seconds later the Candlemaker appeared in front of them with a look of relief, and toilet paper caught in his wax.

“Man, I shouldn’t have eaten so many beans!” he huffed, wiping some sweat off his brow, and glancing at the scene. “What did I miss, guys?”

“We just got to your part.” Xibalba replied. Frankly he was glad the Candlemaker didn’t come to interrupt him out of sudden like he usually did.

“Oh, cool! I love storytelling!” the Candlemaker laughed, taking his place on the couch when all stared turned back to him. The Book of Life opened its pages in front of the children so they could take a better look at the events. “Well, when Muertita sent our dear old General back home, it was my time to pay him a little visit… And what a visit he had!”


	5. The Ghost of Christmas Present

 

Ramiro woke up with a start to find himself back in bed. He looked around to see if there was any sign of La Muerte, but she was gone; however, the pain upon the reminder of what he had done was still there. The truth was he had never stopped loving her. ( **sad, isn’t it?** )

“Why was I such a fool?” he sobbed. “Why?”

Another sound caught his attention, but this time it was not coming form his room; in fact, it seemed to be coming from the next door, there was even light coming from underneath the door, he could swear he heard laughter coming from it as well. Warily, he got out of bed and headed towards the door; reluctantly, he turned the knob and opened the door, quickly shielding his eyes from the bright golden light. When the light subsided, he found himself in… 

It was not the room next to his! This one was much larger! Not only that, but it had intricate and colorful glass patterns, all bright and lively, as well as a white marble floor with swirls of golden paint, all bright and shiny. There were tables filled with Christmas feasts, all laid out, open as if inviting him to grab some. A large Christmas three was decorating it, with colorful lights, stars and bright red gurnards. 

( **“You used _this_ dining hall?” Alastor couldn’t believe it. “We can do that?”**

** “Al, we could bring back Manolo Sánchez form the grave! What makes you think we couldn’t use one of the rooms from here?” the Candlemaker laughed. **

** “Candlemaker, we’d love to hear one of your explanations on how Ancient magic works, but we don’t have all night.” Xibalba said. La Muerte elbowed him hard on the ribs, making him yelp in pain. “Ow! What?!” **

** “Well, that’s when I, the incredibly handsome narrator, come in.” ** )

“About time you got here!” 

Ramiro jumped in fright at the booming voice coming from above, and saw a large, fat man with long and puffy white beard float down from above; he was glowing as if he were a candle. Alongside him was a large, thick book with curls and hears. “What the hell…?”

“Allow me to introduce myself, Ramiro Guadalupe Posada.” The Candlemaker landed in front of him. “I am the Candlemaker! And this is the Book of Life!” he motioned to the floating book next to him, and much to Ramiro’s shock, the book flapped its pages by _itself_. 

“H-How did that…?” Ramiro blinked. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m the keeper of the Book of Life, man, I’m supposed to know everyone! Everyone’s story is written here, in the Book of Life!” the Candlemaker signaled to the book once more, who opened its pages. “And this is yours so far!” 

Ramiro glanced at the pages with a bit of uncertainty. “And what the heck did you do with my house?!” 

“Nothing, I just used a spell to bring over the dining hall from the Land of the Remembered so you could see what you’re missing.” He motioned to all around them. “The food, the fun, the parties, but overall, spending quality time with your family, man! It’s the base of all society!”

“Please! I don’t miss anything just for not going to a silly party!”

“That’s where you are wrong, you know. You miss tons of things when you choose to isolate yourself from everyone. But well, I guess I’ll have to show you.”

“The past again?”

“Oh, no, La Muerte already did that! I’m showing you how things are going right _now_.” The Candlemaker snapped his fingers, and the Book of Life opened and flew beneath Ramiro, lifting him unto it. 

“What the hell?!” 

“Hang on tight, man! Book likes to play with passengers!”

Ramiro yelled in fright when the Book of Life flew upwards, through the ceiling and into the night sky. “Not again!” 

The Book of Life flew through San Ángel’s rooftops and went over the church, stopping to abruptly it nearly knocked the General off its back. Once he recovered from the fright, Ramiro could now see the beautiful landscape before him. The lake around town glistened calmly under the moonlight, the desert extended for miles and there was not a soul in the street, everyone was home having the Christmas eve dinner. 

“My, this is…” he was speechless. 

The Candlemaker appeared floating next to him, smiling. “You know, very few mortals are granted such a view of the world. You should be grateful.” 

“Sort of…” 

The Book of Life floated down through the roof of the church, and Ramiro saw there were worn down tables accommodated, and poor decorations adorning the walls, complete with a small Christmas tree. The nuns and Father Domingo were serving warned up soup, slices of goose and cheap ham to the lower classes of town, mostly the orphans, the homeless and the poor. They then headed to the tables and chatted, some even sharing their meals with those who needed it more. 

“Why are we here?” Ramiro asked. 

“Man, for you to understand what Christmas is about you have to see how everyone celebrates it! Just look at them! They don’t have material belongings, but they still enjoy Christmas, you know why?”

“Not really, and I-“

The Candlemaker didn’t let him finish the sentence. “Because they have each other. They help each other out, and as long as they are together they don’t need money to be happy.” 

( **“Boring!” Alastor sighed, pouting.**

** “Tell me.” Xibalba muttered under his breath.  **

** “Don’t be rude, you two.” La Muerte scolded her two boys mildly. “Let the Candlemaker finish.” **

** “Well, guys, I don’t want to be rude or something, but I really need to go to the bathroom!” Captain Mondragon couldn’t contain himself anymore, and ran towards one of the gates leading to the halls in which the bathrooms were located. **

** The Candlemaker coughed a bit. “Well, guys, then again, me and Rami were taking a look at the Christmas dinner of the homeless people…”  ** )

Ramiro wanted to dismiss his words, but something stopped him. Watching these people enjoying the holiday together, all smiling, and happy. They didn’t care they were poor, the families were together, apparently that was good enough for them. He was startled when Book moved away from the tables, and closer to the nuns. 

“At least this year we managed to get enough for everyone.” The youngest said.

“We sure got enough donations for a decent meal, at least.” Another sighed. “Too bad we didn’t get enough for a turkey.” 

“We can thank that old Posada goat for that.” The eldest (and shortest) of the nuns said with a bit of bitterness. “He never contributes with the banquets, he’s too busy rotting in his house and money.” 

“Elena, we’re in the church.” Carola, the nurse from earlier, scolded her mildly. 

“It’s the truth. You even saw yourself how he treats his own daughter! And he has the nerve to call himself her father?”

“I agree.” Another nun said. “A father loves, protects and nurses his children, but he has never done any of that. He didn’t even raise her himself, he just sent her away so someone could do what was supposed to do.” 

“Exactly. In fact, I think he just wanted to get rid of her because she was not the male child he wanted.”

Ramiro couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How dare they question what he felt for his daughter?! Of course he loved her! ( **I mean, what kind of father doesn’t love his children?** ). But before he could go and speak his mind ( **or at least try, he wasn’t really present there** ), the Book of Life floated away from the spot, out of the church and over the rooftops once more. Then the book headed towards one of the more wealthy parts of the town, and stopped just above Casa de Mondragon.

“What are we doing in Joaquín’s house?” Ramiro inquired. 

“Well, right now your daughter and the family are celebrating Christmas.”

“Why here and not in their own house?”

“Wha-? Don’t tell me you don’t know!” 

“Know what?” 

“María and Manolo live with Joaquín, man!” 

( **Xibalba snickered. “I can imagine the face he got when he found out.”**

** “He didn’t know?” Marigold asked. **

** “He was _so_ interested in his daughter’s life…” she could tell there was sarcasm in his voice. **

** “But he has a good point. How come they didn’t have their own house?” Zipacna inquired while chewing on his popcorn. **

** “Zipacna, how much popcorn have you eaten?” La Muerte asked him with a small frown. “You’re going to constipate.” She glanced to her children. “Let’s say that living with her father was not a good idea, and Joaquín was a bit lonely in his home, so the three talked and Joaquín offered to receive them in his house.”  **

** “Speak of close friends.” Xibalba snickered. “Let’s see how much time passes before my boy and María get hooked up-“ **

** La Muerte immediately stood up, her eyesnearly setting on fire as she glared murderously at her husband. “XIBALBA!” **

** “Hey, m-mi amor! You know I’m only kidding!” He glanced at the Candlemaker. “Weren’t you saying something?” ** )

Ramiro dropped his jaw in shock. “ _QUE?! SHE MOVED WITH JOAQUÍN AND MANOLO?! WHY DIDN’T SHE TELL ME ANYTHING_?!”

“She did, man, but you were too busy ‘working’.” 

“That’s the most stupid thing she has thought of!”

“Really, Rami, you don’t know your own daughter! Buut you will see down there.” 

Ramiro yelped when Book flew down out of sudden, yelling when it flew through the roof and into the living room.

Unlike the church, Joaquín’s mansion was decorated in the manner of a Christmas party. Red and green gurnards, as well as a few mistletoes, adorned the railings of the stairs, and golden lights illuminated the rooms, with other decorations such as candy canes and socks with names on the chimney. A large Christmas tree beautifully decorated was in the middle of the living room, and María, Joaquín and Manolo were there, accompanied by their( **Manolo and María’s, don’t get the wrong idea** ) two children, fifteen-year old Juan Carlos and nine year old Cristina. They were opening their gifts, but Cristina was on a chair. Ramiro noticed she looked weaker than the last time he saw her, there were bags under her eyes and she was thinner. There was a sickly air to her. She ripped the colorful paper of her gift box, and to her delight there was a new doll inside, the one she had been asking for. “Mamá, papá, look! Santa brought the doll I wanted!”

María and Manolo smiled, while Joaquín smiled. “He never misses anything, does he?”

“By the way, is _abuela_ coming this year?” Juan Carlos inquired, smiling as he placed his new guitar aside.

“She should be arriving soon.” María said, and at that very moment there was a knock on the door. “Oh, that must be her!”

Joaquín’s butler headed over to the door and pulled them open. “ _Buenas noches_ , madam.”

Ramiro’s jaw nearly dropped when he saw the new arrival. It was a sight he had not seen in years. Unlike him, her aging didn’t erase her beauty away. Her beautiful hair had grown white, with only a few dark strands left on the tips, her wrinkles were thin, elegant and didn’t violate her gentle features. ( **Yes, it’s María’s mother Sofía**.)

“Mamá!” María stood up and rushed to greet her mother, both women hugged tightly. “You came!”

“Of course! You think I would miss Christmas with my only daughter and my grandchildren?” Sofía laughed. 

“ _QUE DEMONIOS_?!” Ramiro yelled, unheard by his family. “SHE INVITED HER MOTHER AND SHE DID NOT TELL ME?!”

The Candlemaker shrugged. “Well, that’s what you get for preferring to stay alone at home instead of spending time with your family.”

“ _Abuelita_!” Cristina jumped from her chair and rain towards her grandmother. Her legs gave away and Manolo barely caught her. 

“Be careful, _mija_ , you’re still weak.” He said gently as he helped his daughter up. 

Sofía smiled at her grandchildren as they approached, and embraced them gently. “I’m happy to see you too, Juan, Cristina. How’s your grandfather.” 

Manolo and Joaquín didn’t say anything, they felt it should be María who spoke of her father. “He couldn’t come. He had a cold and had to stay at home.” 

Sofía nodded. “I see.” She knew her ex-husband enough to know he probably dismissed her.

“Hey, Cristy, I smell some cookies from the kitchen!” Juan Carlos chimed, picking his sister up and lifting her to place her on his shoulders. “How about we go take some?” 

“Yay!” Cristina chirped in delight as her brother carried her into the kitchen. “But we should leave some for _abuelito_. Mamá, Can we go see _abuelito_ and bring him some cookies?” 

María smiled. “He must be asleep at this hour, but we could go see him in the morning.” 

When the two were gone, the air grew somber, and Ramiro noticed María’s expression had become sad. Manolo let out a sigh, and Joaquín patted his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. Sofía noticed, and instantly knew what was wrong. “What did the doctor say?”

“Ay, mamá…” María was sobbing now. “She’s growing weaker. The medicine we have is only helping so much, and I’m afraid…” 

“María, it’ll be okay…” Manolo stood up and went to hug his wife. “Cristina will be fine. She’s strong just like you, it’ll be okay.”

Ramiro blinked. “What are they talking about?”

“Don’t you know? Cristina has been ill for about a month now.” The Candlemaker said, for once his voice gloom. He waved his hand and appeared a small candle whose flame was very faint. “This is her life. It’s almost extinct. If the shadows of the present remain unchanged, her life will end before long.” 

Ramiro’s eyes grew wide in shock. He glanced at Cristina, then at the short candle’s dim flame. “No… She’s…”

“So what? It’s not like you ever cared, anyway.” 

His disbelief only grew. “Wha…?”

“Don’t you remember? You always dismissed her and put more attention to Juan Carlos, and even with him you are distant and demanding!”

“N-No! That can’t be, of course I love her!” 

“Do you?” the Candlemaker’s voice and expression grew cold, and snapped his fingers. The Book of Life dropped Ramiro to the ground with a painful thud and opened its pages to his Story. Ramiro saw words and images in the pages that replayed by themselves.

* * *

_ “ **Abuelito** , would you play tea party with me?”  _

_ Ramiro frowned and turned his back on his granddaughter. “I’m a bit busy right now, in case you haven’t noticed, I have no time for dumb childish games.” _

* * *

_ “Look, **abuelito** , I made you a drawing!” _

_ He glanced at the piece of paper, uninterested and not really paying attention, before turning back to his papers. “Aja.” _

* * *

_ “ **Abuelito** , you came!” _

_ “yeah, I only came to tell you **feliz cumpleaños** , I gotta go now.” _

* * *

Ramiro fell to his knees, watching himself dismiss his granddaughter coldly while she tried to call his attention and bond with him. Seeing it like this was a huge blow, guilt and sorrow started to overcome him yet again. The Book of Life closed shut, disappearing in a flash of light. Ramiro realized everything had turned black, Joaquín’s parlor had disappeared, he was alone and in the darkness. Ramiro glanced around his surroundings , looking for the Candlemaker. 

“W-Wait..! What can I do to…!”

But he was gone….

* * *

“Oooooohhhh…” the Candlemaker tried to give a suspenseful air, but his listeners were too sad by what they just heard. 

“Man, leave the scary tuff to me.” Xibalba shook his head. 

“She was going to die?” Marigold couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

“Cristina was ill, sometimes human medicines can’t save a life no matter how much they take.” La Muerte sighed sadly. “Children are especially vulnerable.” She personally hated when children died without having gotten to live their lives.

Alastor turned towards his father. “I guess you were the third ‘spirit’, right?” 

“Hehe, you guess right, _mijo_. I must say, I never had so much fun in my-“ Xibalba froze when he spotted a certain basilisk entering the dining hall (wearing a santa hat and carrying a large red bag in his mouth) and slithering towards them. Víbora stopped in front of the group. 

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” he said, his voice always having his touch of seriousness, but his expression was cheery, at least until he glanced at Xibalba. “Even you.” 

“ _Pero que demo_ -?! _Quien rayos lo invito_?!” Xibalba snapped. 

Joaquín Sr hid behind Zipacna when he saw the giant snake approaching. He had never been fond of reptiles, and snakes were no better. 

“I did, Xibalba.” La Muerte replied. “I figured that since he doesn’t have anyone to spend Christmas with, he could come.” 

“Uncle Víbora!” both Marigold and Alastor rushed to greet the new arrival, who chuckled in response. 

“Hey there, kiddos, I brought you some gifts.” 

“Who are you, Santa Claus?” Xibalba muttered under his breath, ignoring his wife’s glare. 

Víbora glanced indifferently at him. “Well, it would actually suit _you_ if you wore red, put on some weight and put reindeer horns on your horse.”

“Repeat that! I dare you, you mutant worm!”

“These two look like a married couple.” Joaquín Sr muttered under his breath. 

“And you didn’t see the _bad_ days.” The Candlemaker whispered in dismay. 

“So, are we going to hear the rest of the story or are you two going to keep acting like children?” La Muerte said, crossing her arms. 

“Man, I want to see what uncle Víbora brought!” Alastor whined. 

“You could do both things at the same time.” Zipacna suggested. “I do it the whole time.”

“No wonder why you are so vague…” Xochiquétzal muttered under her breath.

Xibalba regained his composure to continue with the story. “Well, after the General was left alone, it was my cue to enter the plot. And I must tell you,” he chuckled evilly. “I’ve never had so much fun in so much time.”


	6. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

The clock struck twelve.

After Ramiro was left alone in the darkness, he tried to find the way back to his room, but he did not know he was about to receive a ( **not too pleasant** ) visit.

“Hola?” Ramiro was looking around in the darkness, advancing blindly through the place. He heard movement behind him, but when he turned around, he found no one. Another sound to his right, but again when he turned he saw no one. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he thought he was in a clock tower, and suddenly from the clock’s frame filtered moonlight, both hands of the clock were still at twelve o’ clock, midnight, the tick-tock echoed in the gears shrouded by the blackness.

Now he was certain he was not alone when he saw movement in the corner of his eye, but found no physical form. A hiss sent flags of alarm through his system, and he turned around just in time to see something slithering in the darkness. He heard the same hiss, this time from the opposite side, this time he managed to catch a glimpse of purple scales. Ramiro’s heart was drumming and pumping like mad, he was certain he’d die of a heart attack. Put of sudden something tangled with his feet, and he fell on his back, yelping in pain when his back met the wooden floor. Looking at his feet to see what he had stepped on, and yelled in horror when he saw a snake baring its fangs at him, hissing. The weirdest thing was that this snake had _two_ heads.

Finally, a large shadow was cast over him, and he a creature rose up from the ground, a very tall creature. ( **You can guess who, jeje**.) The serpent slid towards the creature, who kneeled down to pick it up before straightening up again, and the snake turned into a staff.

Ramiro had to say, this being was very different from the previous ones. Unlike La Muerte and the Candlemaker, who were warm and had bright colors and gentle appearances, this one was all clad in black, and had a somber appearance to him. He had the appearance of an old black skeleton, made out of tar, wearing a long cloak that covered his legs, and conquistador armor-which made the General think that this spirit was of European lineage ( **and he wasn’t wrong, I admit, he was not as stupid as I thought** )- along with matching black leather gloves and a silver crown with swirly horns. There black wax candles topping the horns of his horns, and his shoulder pads. His long white moustache was curly and his matching ( ** _and_ handsome** ) beard carefully trimmed, it was obvious he put lots of care in them. His long, thin, spindly and sharp fingers were resting on top of the top of the staff snake’s head, as if he was caressing it. But the thing that differentiated him the most from the other two were his large, black and apparently burnt angel wings, resting upon his back.

Somehow, Ramiro had the feeling this spirit would not be as friendly as the other two.

Two skull-shaped red pupils were staring at him with disdain, as if he were nothing more than an insect. “So… This is the insignificant man who dared to talk my wife down?”

“I’-I am…” Ramiro blinked. “Wait, what? Your wife? Who are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about La Muerte, mortal. She told me how you treated her.”

He couldn’t’ believe, or even imagine it. That beautiful goddess married to this…? What the heck did she see in him?

“For starters, I actually love and respect her.” the creature said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe if you had done it with your own wife, she wouldn’t have left you like the pathetic dog you are.”

“Hey, how did you know what I was thinking?!”

“I am a _god_ , Posada. There’s little I can’t do. And you better show a bit more respect if you don’t want to meet your end _prematurely_.”

Ramiro realized they were losing precious time arguing. “S-Sorry, but I guess you must be the the l-last spirit…”

“Unfortunately for you ( **and me, I wasn’t very happy to see him** ), I am. My name is Xibalba, and I shall show you the future that awaits you.” He bent down by the waist to take a better glance at Ramiro. “But you are not going to like it a bit.”

“I fear you the most out of all three spirits… But your purpose is to do me a good, so I shall heed every word you say, and every scene you show me, no matter how horrible it is…”

“Bla, bla, bla, I know that, human. I’ve been hearing it all night, I don’t need to hear it from you.” Suddenly, Xibalba gave him a ( **literal** ) toothy grin. “So, shall we go, then?”

With a snap of his fingers, he sent Ramiro flying backwards, and down a steep street; soon the darkness dissipated, and the scenery became that of San Ángel’s. Ramiro continued to roll down the street, yelping in pain until he hit the fountain. Groaning, Ramiro rolled unto his back, and noticed a few soldiers, or captains, he was too dizzy to tell. But he _could_ hear what they were talking about.

“When did he die?”

One responded. “Last night, I think.”

“Good riddance.” Another said. “Nobody could bear his presence, let alone his company. About time death claimed him.”

“And what has he done with his money and fortune?”

“Didn’t leave it to me.” The first militia man said. “He didn’t even leave it to his family! I guess the vultures will go and snatch it away.”

“I bet it’ll be a cheap funeral.” The third scoffed, laughing. “I doubt anyone will go, he was not precisely popular. But I don’t mind on going… I hear lunch is for free.”

Ramiro watched as the three soldiers laughed mockingly, before parting ways and mixing through San Ángel’s crowds, before suddenly time skipped and before he knew it was nighttime.

( **“Cool!” Alastor unknowingly interrupted his father when he opened the present meant for him, and he found a bow and an a few toy arrows. “How did I know I liked archery?”**

**Víbora grinned. “A little bird told me.” He glanced at La Muerte, and winked. La Muerte giggled.**

**Xibalba coughed, irritated. “If you don’t mind, I was in the middle of a story.”**

**“Sorry, papá. We’re listening.” Marigold shifted her attention from her new red dress back to her father.”**

**“Well, as I was saying, I was about to give our dear General the scare of his life…”** )

“Well, that was interesting.” Xibalba rose from the ground once again, glancing at Ramiro as he stood up.

“Who were they talking about? Did someone die?” Ramiro inquired.

“Yes, an old crook.” The dark god replied uninterested as he fidgeted with his staff. “A man from the militia, he was not very popular around here. With telling you that no one went to his funeral! Well, actually the only ones who went only wanted the free lunch.”

“He sounds nasty.”

“He was nasty.”

Ramiro heard a sound behind him. He turned around looking for the source, and realized it was coming from a pitch black alley. Suddenly, he caught a green glow coming from the alley, which soon turned into many, and he thought he saw various pairs of sickly green eyes glaring at him hungrily, and black teeth baring as the creatures growled. “There’s something over there…”

Xibalba looked down at him. “Tell me, human, are you a fast runner?”

“Runner?” Ramiro had a bad feeling about this, especially when he received another toothy grin in response.

“Yeah. Turns out my boys haven’t had a good hunt in a while, and they need a good stretch of their muscles. And what could better than a plump, short and fat old man for a little practice?”

“P-Practice?”

Xibalba turned to his hounds. “Go ahead, boys. And try not to be too rough on him, you’ll hurt your delicate teeth.” With that, he vanished.

“Their teeth?! What about me?!””

Ramiro became terrified when about a dozen of hounds burst out of the darkness and ran towards him; screaming, he ran down the streets of San Ángel, the creatures in hot pursuit.

( **“Mamá, tell papá to narrate things like they happened!” Marigold protested.**

**La Muerte sighed. “That’s what happened, honey.”**

**Víbora glanced at Xibalba like he wasn’t really surprised. “You actually sent your hounds after him?**

**Joaquín Sir couldn’t help but snicker. “I can imagine the look on his face. He was never a good runner.”**

**Xibalba chuckled. “Yes, I was about to mention that, actually…”** )

Ramiro ran for his life, looking desperately for a place to go hide, or trying in vain to lose the infernal dogs chasing him, but they had sharp senses and he couldn’t shake them off his trail. As he ran through the streets, he saw shades of villagers laughing, celebrating and boasting about the death of a ‘wretched man’, apparently the same one the soldiers were talking about earlier. Seeing crates that led into the rooves almost like a staircase, Ramiro was quick to climb on them and unto the rooves, knocking them aside to keep the hounds from following him. ( **I admit, that was smart on his part. My hounds could have climbed up to the roof on one jump, but I decided he had had enough of hounds for the moment**.)

As the hounds barked at him from the street, Ramiro sighed in relief, wiping the sweat off his brow, at least he didn’t have to worry about the dogs anymore. But as he was recovering his breath, he heard hoofbeats on the tiles of the rooves and before he knew suddenly something pulled him up unto a dark steed, and when he looked up, he found himself with Xibalba once again. This time, the dark god was on the saddle of the horse, holding the reins tightly as he looked back at Ramiro with an amusing expression. “Well, that was funny.”

“Funny?!” Ramiro shrieked. “Those things would have eaten me alive!”

“Are you kidding? You’re too short for their liking, they like big and tall prey. And with your attitude, I bet your taste would have been horrible, anyway.”

“Where are you taking me now?!”

“Not far, but you better hold on tight.”

Ramiro shrieked when Xibalba kicked the horse into a gallop, and it jumped from roof to roof, until it jumped off unto the street and cantered towards an old house on the poor section of town ( **that was the second funniest thing I did that night** ). Xibalba pushed Ramiro of the horse’s rear, and dismounted, sending his horse away with a path on the neck. “Go in there.”

Ramiro looked up at him. “Why?”

“Just go, there’s something that might interest you. Heck, why am I asking you?” Xibalba made Ramiro float with a wave of his hand, and threw him through the door, the general landed on the wooden floor and unto what seemed like a shop. IT was quite run down, but he could see all the ‘wares’ were old pots, cutlery, rags, blankets and many other things, already used and for sale. That’s when he realized this was that second-hand shop where that old wretch, Raúl, sold things to the poor.

The chimney was lit, and he spotted Raúl was accompanied by two women and a man, who were placing things on the floor. Raúl examined his new ‘wares’ meticulously as if to find a fault in them, smirking in satisfaction when he found none.

( **“Why do I get the feeling that is not legal?” Alastor shivered uncomfortably.**

**“It is not, sometimes.” The Candlemaker explained. “Some humans sell their used things willingly to these shops rather than waste them in the garbage, others take things belonging to someone else when they die. Nasty, but in any case it helps the poor who can’t afford new things.”**

**“You could also call it recycling.” Xibalba chuckled. “Things started to get interesting after that…”** )

“So these belong to him?”

“His bed curtains, his blankets and some of his clothing.” The maid nodded. “We thought that maybe they’d be of some use to people who truly need them.”

“Besides, it’s not like that old man will mind, will he?” the laundress, an old grumpy woman with wrinkles on her face, snickered. “If he did not want to help all the needy people in life, at least he did in death.”

“Silk… very expensive, not to mention it lasts very long if properly taken care of…” Raúl left the clothing aside and glanced at the blankets. “He did not die of something contagious, did he?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it! That old wretch was so stingy I bet he wouldn’t have shared a sickness even if he had it!” the man laughed. “Maybe if he had not driven everyone away while he was alive, he wouldn’t have died all alone with no one to comfort him in his last moments.”

“No one knew, and I doubt they would have cared if they did.”

“Absolutely.”

Ramiro did not understand why the god had brought him here. “So, what does this have to do with me…?” he knew the answer, but he was afraid to admit it.

“That’s what happens to horrible, selfish, self-centered and stingy people, you know.” Xibalba said, pointing at the stolen things with a snicker. “Those might as well be _your_ things.”

“Did those belong to the man who died?”

“They did.”

“Did he have any family?”

“A wife and a daughter, but he was neither the best father nor the best husband.”

“What would you know about fatherhood-?” Ramiro choked when the creature grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up to glare into his eyes.

“For your information…” Xibalba hissed. “I _am_ a father. I have two wonderful children, I love them very much, more than my own life and I’d never send them away for someone else to do _my_ job as a father, like _you_ did.” ( **Really, _niños_ , I would have never done that to you**…)

Ramiro didn’t know what to say. He had no way to defend himself, he knew he was right, something prevented him from taking his hands to his ears. Xibalba threw Ramiro towards the darkness, and the general found himself in another room, in a complete different place. He trembled wen Xibalba approached him with a deep frown, taking a hand behind his back, the other gripping his snake staff.

“You are the one who doesn’t have any right to question _me_ , or anyone for the matter, as a father, because you were certainly not the best. You could not break her, and when you realized you couldn’t you sent her way to have someone do it for you.”

Ramiro felt his eyes swelling up with tears. He was right, he had no rights to judge anyone’s fatherhood. Just then, he realized they were in a dark room with only a window and candle as a form of illumination. There was a naked canopy bed in the middle, and there was a body covered with a thick white blanket. Xibalba approached at the head of the bed, staring down at the body uninterested.

“Is that the body of that man…?” Ramiro inquired, approaching slowly.

Xibalba nodded. “It is. Want to take a look?”

Ramiro stuttered as the dark god reached out to lift the blanket. “N-No…! Please, no…I can’t…” ( **What a scaredy cat he was**.)

Thankfully, the dark god let his hand fall down. “As you wish.”

“Can’t you show me anyone who feels any emotion for this man’s death?”

“As a matter of fact, I can.”

Xibalba stamped his staff on the floor, and a sort of energy rippled in the wall, before a part of it disappeared and Ramiro saw a room in a random house of San Ángel; soon he realized it was one of the houses that were rented over to people ( **he had a few, actually** ). He saw a woman, and two infant children. A man entered through the door with a serious expression, his wife immediately left her seat and went to greet him. “W-What happened? W-Will he kick us out?”

“No.” the man replied, still serious, his gaze cast downwards.

“Did he relent?”

“He is past relenting, my dear… He’s dead.”

Silence. A few seconds later, the man looked at his wife, and their expression turned joyful as they let out sighs and small laughs of relief and happiness.

“And who will our debts be transferred to?” the woman asked in delight.

“To his wife. It’s going to take a while, but we’ll have money by then, and even if we don’t that woman is much more considerate and comprehensive than he ever was.” He planted a kiss on his wife’s head. “We’ll sleep peacefully tonight…!”

Ramiro couldn’t believe it. These people were happy for the man’s death?! Had he been that horrible? ( **He was**.) He couldn’t bear it. “Show me some tenderness connected to this death or this room will forever haunt me!”

Xibalba was not moved, however. “That’s going to be quite a problem. See, this man was so wretched he drove everyone away, even his family. All I can do is to show you is tenderness from another family.” He stamped his staff on the ground once again, and the surroundings disappeared. This time, Xibalba had transported himself and Ramiro to a very familiar room. This time, however, all the Christmas colors and decorations had been taken down, replaced by dark, grim colors. All the people inside were dressed in black. ( **you can guess what’s going on, can’t you…?** )

Ramiro saw María, Manolo and Juan Carlos in front of a coffin… She was weeping bitterly, her face hidden into Manolo’s chest. Juan Carlos was staring at the open coffin, the tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Even Sofía was present, and even though she was not crying, in her eyes there was a great suffering and sorrow.

“ _Mijita_ …” María was sobbing. “Manolo… our little girl….”

“It’s okay… I know it hurts, but she won’t suffer anymore…” Manolo’s voice was broken. “She’ll be in the Land of the Remembered now… La Muerte will surely take good care of her…”

Joaquín approached them, placing a shoulder on Manolo’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Manny… If you need anything, you know you can tell me.”

Sofía approached her daughter. As soon as María saw her mother, she immediately ran to her comforting embrace, sobbing uncontrollably. Sofía whispered soothing words to her daughter, telling her it was going to be alright.

Ramiro couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. No… He approached the coffin with his heart in his throat, praying with all this might this was only a nightmare. But as he peeked into the coffin, the tears started to roll down his cheeks. There she was, his granddaughter, her eyes closed as if she were asleep, her hair braided and adorned with flowers, wearing a beautiful white dress.

( **Marigold was silent, but she let out a few sobs. La Muerte stood up and went to sit down next to her children in the floor. Both Alastor and Marigold cuddled in their mother’s comforting embrace.**

**“S-She died…?” Alastor sobbed. “B-But she is not d-down here… Is she…?”**

**“No.” Xibalba shook his head. “I only showed the General what would happen in the future should he not change his ways.”**

**Víbora was surprised at the genuine sorrow in the dark god’s voice. So much he did not retort with a sarcastic comment. Even the Candlemaker and Zipacna were silent.**

**“So… What happened next…?” Xochiquetzal inquired.**

**“Well, naturally, I had to make him react indefinitely…** ”)

“C-Cristina…” Ramiro fell to his knees, shaking his head in denial. “N-No… Not my _nieta_ … No…”

“Please, like you ever cared about her!” Xibalba sighed in irritation, rolling his eyes; he was displeased at so much ‘sentimentalism’ around him.

“How dare you…?” Ramiro stood up and glared up at him, his eyes glossy and the tears flowing. “Have you no heart?! My granddaughter died before me! How dare you say I do not care!”

Xibalba was unmoved, however. “You talk much after driving her away countless times.” ( **Don’t look at me like that! Sometimes you have to be direct and assertive to help people, even if it seems cruel**.)

Suddenly, Ramiro realized something. “Where am I?”

No reply.

“You’ve showed me everyone in the future! My daughter, the people, those who knew the wretched man, you’ve showed me all people in the town but me! You’re supposed to show me _my_ future, but you’ve shown me all futures but mine!”

Xibalba chuckled. “Don’t tell me you have not realized yet.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been in front of yourself this whole time.”

“I don’t get it…”

“Allow me to show you.”

Xibalba stamped his staff for a third time, and Ramiro was sent flying. All the scenery around them turned into a violent storm, the thunders were roaring and the rain fell with great strength. Ramiro landed on the muddy ground of the cemetery. Xibalba materialized just next to a forgotten grave, run down and with moss growing all over it. The moss hid the name of the dead person in question in there.

“What are we doing here?!” Ramiro asked with a loud voice due to the thunder.

Xibalba looked down at the grave. “Remember the wretched man you knew so little about? The one all the people were glad he was gone? This is his grave.”

“What does it have to do with me?!”

“Come closer and I’ll show you.”

“Before I do so, tell me something! Are these the shadows of what _will_ be, or of what _may_ be?! Fate is supposed to be made by one’s actions! If one changes his ways, then his future will!”

“Maybe, but you can’t do anything now.”

“Why not?!”

Without saying anything, Xibalba pointed at the gravestone, and part of the moss withered away, revealing the name of the wretched man.

**Ramiro Guadalupe Posada.**

Ramiro’s heard nearly stopped, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he stared at the wretched man’s… no, _his_ tomb. It couldn’t be..! All those people… they had been talking about _him_. They were glad _he_ was gone. No one showed any compassion, no one cared, not even his own daughter, nor his family..

“No! I can’t be that horrible man!” he wept.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Xibalba simply said, retorting one of the General’s famous catchphrases. “Oh, well, at least now you’ll do things _your_ way.”

“No! That’s not what I want! I am not the man I was! Why are you showing me this if I’m past all hope?!”

Again, Xibalba pointed at the gravestone, revealing another writing.

**Born 4 February, 1875**

“No! Wait, what will happen to me?!”

“Well, considering no one bothers to remember you, and as you can see, no one even minds to give some maintenance to your grave, you’ve earned a one-way ticket to the Land of the Forgotten.” With a cruel grin, Xibalba snapped his fingers, and suddenly Ramiro’s skin withered away, turning into black bone with green marks.

“Wait a second, what about María?! Sofía?! They must remember me!”

“They do, but not in a good way.” Xibalba frowned indifferently. “María eventually gave up on trying to connect with you, and concluded that if you did not want to be with her family, then she would not beg you anymore. Sofía was not surprised by your attitude. Your funeral was cheap and no one attended at all.”

“No, please!” Ramiro grew desperate when the blackness extended to his clothing. “I want to change! Give the chance and I’ll make up for everything!”

Xibalba revealed another portion of the gravestone.

**Died 25 Dec.**

“No!” Ramiro tried in vain to escape from the cemetery, but suddenly the ground beneath him started to tremble, and a great fissure opened on his feet. He clung to dear life as the hole on the ground became deeper, and he could see something at the bottom. A land covered in ash, spikes and a freezing cold. He saw beasts wandering around looking for more victims. As Ramiro changed into a Forgotten skeleton and his fingers started to slip from the ledge, Xibalba approached the fissure and looked down at Posada with little interest.

“Please!” Ramiro cried out in despair, the now green tears rolling down his bony cheeks and mixing with the rain. “I will honor Christmas in my heart all year along! I’ll cherish my family and friends from now on! I’ll never forget the teachings of the past, present, and future! But please, tell me I can wash away the writing on that stone!”

Xibalba just snickered mockingly. “Bah, humbug. Merry Christmas.” With that, he waved goodbye at him, before vanishing.

Ramiro’s fingers slipped…

* * *

“Papá, why did you stop!” Marigold whined when her father left the story at a cliffhanger.

“I’m just giving you some suspense!” Xibalba defended himself.

Víbora searched in his satchel and took out one last gift box, then held it out to Xibalba. “Here.”

The dark god stared at the box. “For me?”

“No, for Tlaloc. Of course it’s for you, tar head.”

“That was nice on your part, Víbora.” La Muerte smiled at the basilisk.

Reluctantly, Xibalba grabbed the box and ripped the paper off, then opened the box. His eye twitched when he saw what was inside. “A snow globe…?” he took the decoration out of the gift box, so the others could see it. It had a mini figure of his castle on the Land of the Forgotten inside, it was ‘snowing’ inside. “Very funny.”

“Where did you get that thing?” Joaquín Sir inquired, munching on the last of the biscuits.

“I know someone.” Víbora simply said.

“ _Damn it, I’ll get you for this_ …” Xibalba thought as he keep staring at the snow globe. Everyone knew he hated snow globes. Heck, even Víbora knew! Maybe that was the reason he had brought him one in the first place…

“Hello? What about the story!” Alastor insisted.

“Yeah, let’s hear the end of it!” Zipacna added.

La Muerte thought that maybe she should continue with what was left of the tale. “Well, let’s say that after the scare Xibalba gave him, Ramiro was never the same again…”


End file.
